“Uh—Hum!”
Horne clasped his arms behind his back and stamped dramatically up and down the surgery, rattling the instruments in their glass case by the wall. Suddenly he faced Mauney.
“How would you like to lose your arm, young man?” he asked seriously.
“I’d hate to.”
“Then I’m going to open up that wound freely,” he said, walking toward the instrument case. “Do you want to take chloroform?”
“No—I think I can stand it.”
Home selected a knife and pulling a hair out of his head tried its edge.
“She’s sharp—damned sharp!” he remarked, dropping the instrument into a basin of solution. “You think you can stand it, eh? Remember, I offered you chloroform.”
Presently he picked the knife out of the basin.